Shadow’s Redemption

Chapter Three: A Twist of Fate

In the distance, the faint wail of sirens drifted on the night wind.

Jaxon took a deep, long breath, his eyes roaming over the city with a kind of hungry longing. Suddenly he threw his arms wide, as though trying to embrace the entire night sky. He tilted his head back, staring at the boundless darkness above, at the stars that glittered like an ocean of scattered lights, feeling the unique pulse and restless energy of a big city after dark. After a long silence, he whispered almost to himself:

“This is probably the last time in my life I’ll ever breathe free air… the last time I’ll stand here so completely unrestrained.”

Hearing those quiet words and feeling the hollow desolation that always follows the release of wild passion, Felix’s eyes slowly filled with tears.

He couldn’t bear to part with this strange older boy who, in just one meeting, had forced him to smoke and drink for the first time. He couldn’t bear to lose this brother who, beer in hand, sang of life’s grandeur and dignity, who, arms outstretched, radiated a wild, almost heroic spirit that seemed to challenge both heaven and earth. In Jaxon Kane, Felix had glimpsed things he had never encountered before—things he hadn’t even known he could want.

Screech…

The sharp sound of brakes suddenly cut through the night, not far from the two boys. In plain view of the growing crowd, the vehicle that roared into the crime scene at reckless speed wasn’t a police cruiser.

It was two camouflage-green SUVs—military spec—with their license plates conspicuously removed.

The door flew open. A lieutenant colonel leaned out and barked at Jaxon:

“Get in the car. Now!”

The officer’s sharp gaze shifted and landed on the small boy sitting beside Jaxon. His brow furrowed slightly.

“Aren’t you Harlan ‘Toad’ Shadow’s kid?”

Felix nodded automatically. He had indeed heard people use the ugly nickname “Toad” for his father—the man who was always humble and soft-spoken in public, who never raised his voice even when wronged, but who came home and unleashed every ounce of his frustration and rage on his own family.

Jaxon’s face darkened instantly. He roared:

“What the hell did you call him? He’s my friend—he’s sitting here drinking with me. No matter how high I ever climbed in this shitty life, I’ve never let anyone insult a friend’s father right to his face!”

“Okay, okay, okay—I was wrong. Happy?”

The lieutenant colonel—Colonel Marcus “Mace” Reed—could no longer hide his urgency. He waved his arms frantically.

“Get in the damn car! Do you want to end up in a police station getting worked over like a slave before you’re satisfied?”

Jaxon stayed rooted in place, expressionless, seemingly unwilling to accept help from this man. But Felix’s eyes widened in shock.

This wasn’t just any officer.

Colonel Marcus “Mace” Reed—known throughout the military region simply as “Computer.”

His memory was freakishly perfect. In war-game simulations and strategic planning, he could go toe-to-toe with an entire operations staff team by himself. A certified genius. And in everyone’s eyes, the very definition of arrogant.

In all the years Felix had heard stories about him, he had never once heard of Mace Reed apologizing to anyone so easily.

“What are you still standing there for?!”

Though Felix didn’t understand why a man as cautious and high-ranking as Colonel Reed would suddenly appear and risk everything to help Jaxon Kane, it was clear the colonel had come prepared. At his sharp command, several elite, lightning-fast soldiers poured out of the second vehicle. Without a word, they paired up and physically dragged both Jaxon and Felix into the lead SUV.

Bang! Bang!

The doors slammed shut. The engine was already running. The vehicle surged forward with terrifying speed and precision. The sheer efficiency made Felix wonder if these men had been professional kidnappers before they ever put on a uniform.

They had only traveled about thirty meters when they passed a speeding police cruiser going the opposite direction. Colonel Reed, riding shotgun, let out a quiet breath of relief—but his eyes instantly narrowed to dangerous slits.

Their path was blocked.

Dozens of thugs had swarmed in from the sides, armed with iron bars, machetes, and chains—clearly low-level enforcers.

To operate a high-end establishment like the Neon Lotus Lounge—a thinly disguised high-class brothel—in this city, the owner had to wield enormous influence and connections. Whether to protect the deputy mayor’s reputation or simply to save face, there was no way the club’s backers would let Jaxon Kane walk away so brazenly in front of hundreds of witnesses.

A naked corpse lay in front of the entrance.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of passersby watched in cautious excitement.

And now dozens of armed thugs—clearly not afraid to use violence—openly blocked two military vehicles. Some of them were already arrogantly banging their weapons against the hoods, acting like they owned the night.

If not for the fact that these were two high-end, camouflage-painted military SUVs (each easily worth over $80,000 even in 1993), if not for the military paint job, and if not for Colonel Reed sitting calmly in the passenger seat in full uniform, the thugs probably would have already smashed the windows, dragged everyone out, and beaten them bloody.

And most shockingly of all—the police cruisers?

They simply pulled to the edge of the square. Lights still flashing.

Not a single officer stepped out to intervene.

Colonel Reed turned to Jaxon and said, low and meaningful:

“You really managed to piss off both the law and the underworld in this city.”

Before Jaxon could answer, Reed shoved the door open and stepped out.

His gaze swept the crowd with casual authority and naturally settled on the face of a man in his forties—the obvious leader.

“You in charge here?”

“That’s right.” The man sized Reed up, then pointed at Jaxon in the backseat. “Leave the kid here. You can go.”

Reed’s voice dropped, cold and final:

“Impossible.”

The fact that the other side was clearly active-duty military had forced the man to speak politely at first. Being rejected so bluntly in front of his own crew made him furious.

“You’d better understand exactly who you’re about to piss off by helping this punk!”

“Oh?” Reed raised an eyebrow slightly. “I really don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

The forty-something man pulled a bulky mobile phone from his pocket—a major status symbol in 1993—and sneered:

“I’ll be straight with you. Right now we’ve got a few dozen guys here, and we’re showing respect to the police by not doing this quietly. But if we take this somewhere private? One phone call and I can have hundreds here in minutes. Even if you’re military—even if you’re wearing that fancy uniform—you’ve just made enemies of every serious player in this city’s underworld. Good luck surviving here after tonight.”

“Impressive. Truly impressive.”

Reed smiled thinly.

“You’ve offended your so-called ‘underworld.’ Turns out even professional soldiers have to watch their step. Looks like we really do need to have a proper… discussion tonight.”

In front of everyone, he reached into the vehicle, took the military car phone from the driver, and held it up with a calm smile.

“Compared to you—who can summon hundreds with one call—I’m ashamed to admit I can only manage a few dozen.”

He looked straight at the smug man across from him and said seriously:

“But if the place you have in mind is really big enough… and really quiet enough…

then yes.

With one call…

I can summon a few dozen tanks.”

…

A deathly silence fell over the entire street.

Dozens of tanks.

Anyone else would have burst out laughing at such an outrageous statement.

But looking at Colonel Marcus “Mace” Reed—standing there with that faint, unshakable smile, utterly calm, like a living legend—no one laughed.

Not a single person.